


Breathe

by jezebel_rising



Category: King Arthur (2004)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:34:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25835824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jezebel_rising/pseuds/jezebel_rising
Summary: He has to wonder – if he forgot all that, how could he ever learn to breathe again?
Relationships: Arthur Castus/Lancelot
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY SO, I wrote this in 2007. I have no copies of this except for what's on livejournal. So it's going up on Ao3.

Arthur would like to go to Rome. He would like to feel the summer heat pressing on his skin, breathe in the dry air, feel the dust, the dirt, hear the clamor of people in his ears. Instead he is in the forest, in the dark, dank days of early spring with his sword heavy with blood and his soul even darker with sin.

Lancelot is at his side. That crazy half smile, full of darkness, full of things done in the dark, full of things which shall cast him down into the dark…Arthur has to look away before he hits the other man. Lancelot is his devil, his pagan priest seducing him to old ways and older sins. He lies to himself, like this, in these dark, dank days of spring. It’s the only way he gets through them.

There’s a fog rolling in. Tristan’s gone up into the trees to scout. Galahad and Gawain stand near their horses, talking in soft voices and touching their wounds with softer hands. Arthur wants to rage at them, but he takes his rag and cleans his sword instead. They have their pagan gods – they will find no Hell for them to fall into when their days are done. Arthur, though…

“Another party. Six, with two wounded.” Tristan’s close voice makes Arthur jump.

The man is crouched in the crook of a tree, one pant leg torn and dark with blood. “Were the two wounded before you saw them?” He has to ask.

The quick grin, a flash of white and the gaze moves past him, to the blond and brunette standing close by the horses. “Was too good to miss. Besides, I evened the count a bit. Would have had ten instead.”

“Tristan…”

The dark lashes were long against pale skin. “Lancelot’s behind you.” Tristan looked up. “They’ll be here soon.” With a rustle of leaves, he's gone before Arthur can blink.

Arthur can feel his hands clenching around his sword. He had wanted to go home, back to the barracks, back to his altar, but there's movement behind him. The supplicant War God’s priest, Arthur's own dark devil, winds hands around his waist and breathes into his ear.

“Come along, Arthur. After all,” the hands slide down, a sweep of curling, dirty fingers, then the hold is gone. “After all, it’s all for the glory of Rome, isn’t it?”

Arthur really would like to go to Rome. Be away from the twisting truths in dark places, where shadows and fog obscure the light. In Rome, all would be illuminated. In Rome, he would be able to sit in the grand churches and breathe the incense-heavy air, spill his sins and be cleansed.

All he had to do was forget how the forest smelled, how Lancelot’s air would curl around his fingers, tangled around his ring. He would have to forget the smell of dark nights and knights, their laughter a low murmur against the cold curl of winter.

He has to wonder – if he forgot all that, how could he ever learn to breathe again?


End file.
